Twin Towers

When I was but a tiny child
Back when the world was new
My parents like twin towers stood
And everything was true

My father died at Eighty one
Peacefully asleep
My mother lived ten years alone
In the house up from main Street

The Century turned over then
In the new millennium
When Mother in the nursing home
reached her journey’s end.

Your first impulse must be to cry
When towers fall, when people die
If Brick and stone- you build anew
If of flesh- the monument is you.

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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